A Study in Waltz
by BMRH
Summary: "It must be told that as unbearable and rude as my friend could be when he was bored or frustrated, just as charming and likeable was he when he chose to be and that night he certainly did choose." How did it happen that Sherlock composed and played the waltz at John and Mary's wedding? A season three one-shot set between The Empty House and The Sign of Three.


**A/N**

I have recently started to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original stories and I love the way they are written and how beautiful the language is. I wrote this fanfiction with the structure of the original stories in mind, which of course included John's narrative and I think it actually turned out really well. I have also tried to include references to the original stories, just like Moffat and Gatiss do. Which can you spot? I dedicate this fic in celebration of that we have finally got some teasers for the Christmas special! Enjoy!

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 _ **A STUDY IN WALTZ**_

"Have you talked about the waltz?"

"Hmm?"

I hadn't paid attention to that Mrs. Hudson was talking to me at all. I felt like I was lost in thought but thinking about nothing at all. I just sat in my old armchair with my head resting on my palm and tried not to show how tired I was. Obviously, I was failing.

The hours at the hospital was taking its toll on me. Not that my work was physically, or mentally, exhausting, not at all compared to Afghanistan. Every day was just the same. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Nothing… But I liked the financial security a safe work offered and I liked working with Mary. She really filled my days with light.

It was also Mary who saved me from the embarrassment of asking Mrs. Hudson what she had said, by answering her question.

"I would like to dance the waltz." She said from her spot by my armchair. "It feels like something you should do at your wedding but John hasn't been too positive about it."

For once, I wished she wasn't so strait honest. This time, it really made me look like a jerk.

"You have to dance, John. It's a wedding tradition." Sherlock suddenly said in a monotone voice.

"Where did you come from?" I asked him, slightly irritated. Sherlock had been lying on the sofa with a book over his head ever since Mary and I had arrived to Baker Street this afternoon. According to Mrs. Hudson, he hadn't had a case for days. The police was not entirely comfortable with letting Sherlock assist them yet, with the exception of Greg Lestrade, and that was taking its toll on his mood. He had not said a single word since we arrived and he didn't answer when spoken to either, something that frustrated me more and more.

It was not unusual for us to stop by 221B. It happened quite often that I visited Sherlock and was involved in his baffling cases. Mary had also accompanied me the last times and it was going to be even more the closer as the wedding approached. Mary wanted Sherlock to be a part of the planning, even though I had tried to convince her from experience that it was way outside his zone of interest. Up till now, he had done nothing to disprove me. I wondered if it would be different after next week, when I planned on asking him to be my best man.

"Since when did you care about traditions?" I continued.

"Since you obviously don't think it's important to dance at your own wedding when your bride wants to."

"I remember the waltz at my wedding." Mrs. Hudson said, mostly to break the uncomfortable tension in the room. "Mr. Hudson was not a born dancer, I can tell you that but the music were wonderful. We had live musicians."

She said the last words with pride evident in her voice.

"Live musicians are wonderful, Martha." Mary answered. "It would never be the same to listen to a recording."

"Oh, but wouldn't it be lovely if Sherlock played the waltz then?"

"Sherlock?" asked Mary surprised.

"Dear, don't you know that Sherlock plays the violin?"

"No, John has never mentioned that."

I could hear her voice rise slightly in strength at the last words. I was going to make up to her for that later, apparently.

"Oh, you should hear him play." Mrs. Hudson continued. "It's such a delight! He composes too, such beautiful tunes. I particularly remember a lovely tune he wrote before New Year's Eve in 2010, I think. Do you remember that one, Sherlock? Can't you play it for Mary?"

"No." Sherlock said short and definite.

"Why not?" I asked with a consciously calm voice. I knew which composition our old landlady was talking about and for once, I could almost understand my friend's reaction. He rose quickly from the sofa and closed the book with a loud thud.

"Why is not of the slightest importance, John, and you should know that more than anyone else." he said rapidly while he walked out into the kitchen. The irritated tone in his voice concluded that the discussion was over.

Mary's eyebrows rose in confusion as she leaned over to me.

"Was that something that hit a nerve?" she whispered into my ear.

"Maybe, it's not you or anything, just... something else, I think. An old case involving a woman. I'll tell you another time."

"A woman? You bet you will!" she said with a curious smile.

Mrs. Hudson also noticed that she had said too much. "Maybe I shall go? Do you want anything?"

"No, we're alright, you don't have to..."

"You sure?" the landlady interrupted me. "I have some fruit cake in the fridge that I can..."

"Sit down, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock demanded as he walked out of the kitchen and, to my surprise, held his violin in his right hand.

"Why was your violin in the kitchen?" I asked confused.

"You ask too many questions, John, but if you must know, I did an experiment in the sitting room two days ago that could have resulted in an explosive reaction. I put the violin in one of the cabinets for safe keeping, and for your record, the experiment was successful."

"No doubt about it." I answered as indifferent as I possibly could. I could hear Mrs. Hudson though, exclaiming a worried "Oh, dear God…" when she realised that her apartment building could have been in need of serious reparations if her tenant had calculated the slightest wrong.

Sherlock grabbed his bow from the mantel piece and positioned himself by the window. Without another word, he placed the bow on the delicate strings and began to play. Within a moment, the apartment was filled with the most beautiful music. It was a classic piece, something that even I recognised but couldn't name. He had played it many times when we were flat mates, the last time the week before... he killed himself in front of my eyes... Sherlock was back from the dead since three months ago but that memory never ceased to be painful. I tried to shake that mental picture out of my head yet again by focusing on my most alive friend by the window.

Sherlock played the piece by ear and like most times, with ease. I had rarely seen him use or need sheet music, only when he wrote down his own compositions. There were few who knew that he not only did amazing deductions, but also was a musical genius.

And there we sat, the three of us, and enjoyed our small but privileged concert to the fullest. Mrs. Hudson watched Sherlock with a proud smile on her face. Mary had closed her eyes to be able to focus on the music only. Me myself leaned back into my armchair and felt more and more at peace the more I listened. He played with such a feeling that for a moment, I felt transported away to another time and another place, a place where the feelings of stress and worry didn't exist.

With a long note that he spiced with even vibrations from his wrist, the music ended and silence followed in its place. It was Mrs. Hudson who first broke it by applauding excited. Sherlock thanked her with a small bow.

"Sherlock, that was beautiful!" Mary said thereafter in genuine awe. "What was that?".

"Händel." he answered. "Violin Sonata in D Major. I prefer the works of the classic German composers, more than especially those from Italy or France. They are quite extraordinary, a bit like my own compositions."

 _As modest as he gets_... I thought and rolled my eyes.

"Well, I haven't heard any of your compositions so I don't know if I can agree with you." Mary said slyly and I knew exactly what she tried to do. That's why I couldn't help but to laugh when Sherlock put the violin to his neck again. As brilliant as he was, in the end, he was most of all a show-off.

Another piece of music filled the apartment and this one was unfamiliar to me. I did notice though that the piece was played in triple time and very suitable for waltz. His performance on the instrument was once again stunning.

Mary rose suddenly from her spot and took my hands in hers. She tried to get me on my feet but I just shook my head. Dancing was definitely not my forte and I would do everyone's eyes a favor if I could spare them that sight. She became visibly disappointed and sat down again on the armrest of my chair. It was by then that Sherlock abruptly stopped playing and put his violin down in his own armchair.

"Oh, don't stop, dear!" Mrs. Hudson cried and was followed by Mary. "You were right; it's just as good as the German composers! Or better!". But Sherlock said nothing and just walked out of the living room and into his own bedroom. For a moment I thought that his bad mood had returned. It wouldn't have surprised me because his violent mood swings were a major part of everyday life when we lived together. This time however, it was a false alarm because just a minute later, he returned with a CD in his hand. He placed it inside his Mac Book computer and to everyone's surprise, soon the sound of waltz music was heard from its speakers. Sherlock then walked over to me and Mary but stopped in front of her. A charming smile filled his face.

"Miss Morstan, may I have this dance?"

He held out his right hand to Mary who just laughed surprised. I just stared at him in absolute confusion.

She eyed him suspiciously but playfully for a moment before she seemed to make up her mind and gave Sherlock her hand.

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."

It must be told that as unbearable and rude as my friend could be when he was bored or frustrated, just as charming and likeable was he when he chose to be and that night he certainly did choose. Sherlock pulled my fiancée into his arms with a powerful and gracious movement that surprised both her, Mrs. Hudson and certainly me. Mary let out a small yelp but then just laughed as Sherlock placed his right hand tightly (but at a tasteful level) around her waist and took her right hand in his left. Then they began to dance and it was the most extraordinary sight. Sherlock lead Mary in the waltz across the floor with the most gracious and confident movements, perfectly in timing to the music. He spun her out from his arms and inside again, all while looking into her eyes and smiling brilliantly, a smile that I interpreted as very genuine. Mary continued to laugh, especially when Sherlock tipped her to the side and surprised her completely, all to Mrs. Hudson's absolute delight.

I watched them swirl around the living room in absolute astonishment. Sherlock was a man of many talents, no doubt but that he could dance was something I had never imagined. Well, it wasn't that he couldn't learn. With that sense for music, it wouldn't be too hard for him. It was more that I had expected dancing to be one of those trivia things in the world that he found absolutely unnecessary to pay any interest in. Whatever his reasons were, he definitely could dance and like every other skill that he had paid attention to, he mastered it to perfection.

I could also not remember seeing him be any more charming. With his high cheekbones, tall frame and enigmatic eyes, it was no doubt that he was a good looking man. The way he laughed and twinkled with his eyes that night, certainly didn't make it difficult to see why Molly had fancied him since long before I knew him. I even smiled a little at the sight because it was nice seeing him in that way, so unbothered and for once, more human than machine.

But there was something else that really bothered me as I watched my fiancée dance in the arms of my best friend. She laughed so loudly and was so happy but I just felt more and more uncomfortable. Even with these symptoms, I couldn't understand, or wanted to understand, that I was getting jealous.

I had always envied Sherlock for a lot of things. I envied his skills in deduction as much as I admired them. No one could say I wasn't a clever man but around Sherlock on a crime scene, I felt like most people did; like an idiot. But I don't think I have ever envied him more than that night when he danced with Mary. In our crime solving team, he was the mind but I was the heart. When he was insulting the police force for their inability to understand that the knife was not the murder weapon at all, I consoled the mother of the victim. And here the man without a heart was dancing with the woman I loved and making her happy in a way that I couldn't...

Sherlock tipped Mary one last time as the song ended and Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands loudly, even more excited than before.

"You're next!" Mary said to her.

Sherlock chuckled dark and sent the landlady an almost apologetic look.

"Another time, Mrs. Hudson, I promise. Thank you for the dance." He said and kissed Mary's hand.

"Well, Sherlock Holmes, you are a man of many talents. And even a gentleman. Who knew?"

"Who said I wasn't?"

"Okay, that's enough!" I said and rose from my chair. All three looked at me in confusion and suddenly the whole situation felt very embarrassing. I was sure though that I could see Sherlock smirk in the background.

"... I mean, we have some grocery shopping to do. Right, Mary?"

"Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten. We definitely shouldn't eat take out one more night."

Mary warmly hugged Mrs. Hudson goodbye before she stretched up to Sherlock and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you." I could hear her whisper and he answered with a smile and a single wink of his eye. Involuntarily, I felt myself tense even more. I realised what I needed to do but I would definitely not do it in front of Mary.

Mrs. Hudson offered us to take the fruit cake that she had baked in the morning with us and Mary followed her down into her kitchen. I knew this was my chance so I walked over to Sherlock who just had picked up his violin again from the armchair.

"That..." I began "was quite something, mate. I didn't know you could dance!"

"You didn't know, or you presumed?" He answered while he tuned the instrument with his delicate fingers.

"I just didn't think that it was something that interested you, because well... you know."

"I know what?"

"Never mind." I sighed. "Anyway, I thought... that maybe you could... teach me some of that? For the wedding."

Sherlock instantly stopped what he was doing and turned around to face me.

"I'll meet you here at six o'clock on Thursday night. Be on time."

He smirked as in triumph.

"You knew this would happen!?" I exclaimed. "You knew that I would get jealous of you dancing with Mary!"

"Of course I did. You're a man of high moral but you have a primitive need to prove your masculinity for some reason. If another man could give your fiancée something that you couldn't, it would certainly make you more motivated I figured, and I was right."

"Of course you were." I answered and just shook my head.

"Mary is very special." Sherlock said suddenly and in a more serious tone. "One of the finest women I have ever met. It was most clever of her to figure out that it was a skip code that was sent to her."

"I'm happy she is and I'm really happy that you think so. But after all, brainy _is_ the new sexy, right?"

My friend chuckled with me but I could see that my words had created a slight sadness in his eyes. It made me wonder if he often thought about _her_ , in whatever way possible to his calculating mind. I placed my hand on his shoulder.

"I'm very glad you're back, mate."

"I am too."

A very genuine smile spread across his face and I did just the same. I then patterned his shoulder and turned to leave while Sherlock turned back to face the window.

"Thursday then?" I said when I was by the door.

"Six o'clock."

"Got it. I may stop by on Monday too, just so you know."

"Mhmm."

"And Mary and I would be more than happy if you wanted to play during the wedding waltz for us."

At this I got no answer and I was afraid for a moment that he may have thought the idea too ridiculous to even answer to. But as I walked down the stairs, I could hear Sherlock start to play another tune, a tune that was once again unfamiliar to me. He only played for a few seconds before he stopped again, was silent for a few moments and then played the same melody one more time. Even in these small parts of music, I was sure that I could distinguish the triple time. He was composing – and he was composing a waltz.

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 **A/N**

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